Riders of the Storm 1: The trick is
by Kubi-Beutlin
Summary: ...to keep on breathing: Starts off where 6x22 finale left us hanging and spreads out into my version of the entire Season 7. Sam and Dean centric plus many familiar faces, angst, humor, h/c, NO magic fixes or god-saves-the-day , NO Slash, changing POV
1. Chapter 1

**RIDERS OF THE STORM  
><strong>

**Part I **

**The trick is to keep on breathing**

**Pre-bla-bla:** I swore to myself: No, you are NOT gonna write a hiatus story this time, no no no no. But now, with only 40-something days to go until season 7 hits our screens I have a plot-bunny nesting in my brain and it just wants to come out. I know I am gonna literally regret starting this story *lol* because the plot I have worked out so far is HUGE compared to the stuff I normally do. But since I read through all the 6x22 tags and season 7 AU's I could find I need something else to occupy my SPN-hungry mind ^^

**SPOILERFREE SPOILER-DEGREE WARNING:** The only spoiler that I will include in this story is the general feel/theme of the season. Furthermore I will orient myself to some degree on what Jensen and Jared have shared about where their characters are at as the season starts (their mindset). I won't spoil you about resurrections, big bads or anything plot-related

**Further warnings:** This Baby will be BIG and therefore NOT finished and wrapped up before Season 7 starts. I think it might actually become an entire Verse *wibbles* Not like 100.000 words (I hope...oh god please...) but it will EASILY reach the 30.000 mark.

Different to my 6x12 hiatus story this one will actually have a thick plot, with many known characters coming in and having hidden agendas and motives and twists and turns along the way.

**Official Banner can be found on my profile-page!**

**Summary:** Starts off where 6x22 finale left us hanging and spreads out into my version of the entire Season 7. Sam and Dean centric + many familiar faces, angst, humor, h/c, NO magic fixes or god-saves-the-day , NO Slash, changing POV without overlaps

PLEASE DON'T BE TURNED OFF BECAUSE IT STARTS A LOT LIKE MOST TAGS TO 6x22! IT WILL DEFINITELY BECOME IT'S VERY OWN THING!

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**Chapter 1**

This is messed up. There is no other way of putting it.

His eyes jump from Sam to Bobby to Cas and back again, searching for a snicker, a grin, some kind of indication that this is just some bad joke he missed the punchline to. The only thing he finds is fear, though. Fear and an unnerving calm as his glance darts back to Castiel's face. The sharp light of the warehouse casts the entire scene in an eerie greenish gleam and maybe his eyes are playing tricks on him after getting his head smashed into the hard metal table, but he could swear that there is an even colder aura radiating off Castiel's skin. The former angel's irises are more of a murky grey than the piercing blue Dean remembers them being as they stare back at him unblinkingly. Did he ever see Castiel blink? He doesn't remember. Yet the lack of humanity in the man he once considered a friend has never been as obvious as it is at this very moment. He pushes down the pang of loss at this realization, wants to feel only the anger burning inside of him for what the angel has done to Sam, to him, to all of them.

Before he can catch himself his lips are moving, forming words he might pay for with his life, but his brain has flown out the window the very second the word _GOD_ took up all the air in the room.

"You want us to bow down to you? Are you seri..."

"Dean!" Bobby's cautioning voice interrupts him before he can seal their fate in his flabbergasted state. He clamps his mouth shut to keep back the well of colourful phrases that are threatening to boil over his tongue. His knuckles are white as chalk as his nails bite into to palm of his hands.

He has never been good in handling betrayal, he knows that. Maybe it's because he can count the number of people he truly trusted throughout his life on a single hand, maybe it's the way he was raised. Whatever it is, the fact remains that when it comes to forgiveness or dealing smartly with the fallout his record isn't exactly stellar. His eyes connect with Sam's and he can see his own thoughts mirrored in his brother's fearful gaze. His mouth tends to overrule his brain and right now that might be the final straw for Castiel to simply blast them off the face of the earth and be done with them once and for all.

He can't risk it. Especially not after Sam did who knows what to snap out of his coma-like state and come for them. So he swallows it down. The pain, the anger and tries to ignore the bitter taste yet another betrayal leaves behind.

Before he can think of anything helpful to say or do Castiel is already turning his attention towards Sam and Dean's tenuous calm tumbles down the drain.

"Stay away from him, you son of a bitch!" He is running, pictures of Sam exploding like Raphael flashing before his eyes.

"Dean, don't!" Bobby's hands are on him before he can take another step, jerking him to a sudden stop. His injured arm screams in pain and he stumbles back to keep himself from face-planting on the blood splattered floor.

"Damnit, Bobby, let me go! Sam!" But his desperate cry goes unheard for the seasoned hunter's grip is merciless. He struggles against the hold, tries to wrestle his way free to put himself between his brother and the advancing angel, but his injury is restricting his movements even further.

With terrified eyes he watches Castiel stride almost languidly towards Sam who seems to be utterly frozen to the spot. The young man's eyes are big as saucers and his entire body is trembling with tension.

"Cas, don't! Please!" He feels one of Bobby's hands lose its grip on the collar of his jacket and wrenches himself free with a tumbling step forward. Yet before he can regain his balance he is being spun around until the horrifying scene in front of him is replaced by the older hunter's fierce face.

"If you don't calm the hell down I will punch your lights out myself, you hear me?" Dean leans back to deliver a well aimed head-butt, then something in the man's tone makes him pause. Underneath all the numbing fear mirroring his own there is a spark of knowing urgency in Bobby's voice. The loud thumping of his heart makes it hard to concentrate and his brows pull together in confusion. Bobby's eyes are practically drilling into him with a silent plea to trust him. Dean can feel himself nodding, deciding to follow the older man's lead even though he has no idea what is going on anymore. Almost reluctantly Bobby's grip eases off, allowing Dean to finally turn is attention back towards his brother.

The room is dead silent apart from Castiel's calm voice.

"I underestimated you. You remember everything, don't you? And yet you are standing upright even without my assistance." Sam's hands are balled into fists. He watches the angel's mouth moving, knows that he should probably say something in return, but the pounding in his head makes it hard to follow the words. If he is quite honest with himself it is nothing short of a miracle that he even made it here in one piece, no pun intended. His vision keeps on flickering and the world around him hasn't stopped spinning since he woke up in Bobby's panicroom. Some part of him wishes he would have just stayed there, curled up in a ball until his brain has had time to catch up with his feet. Instead he is standing in front of an angel, that apparently isn't an angel anymore after delivering a deathblow that turned out to be about as effective as a booster-shot with a migraine that almost makes his knees buckle. _Way to go, Sam, way to go_.

"I really am sorry it had to come to this, but I had to do this. I had to. You of all people should know." Castiel's words pull the young hunter back into the present. A shiver runs through him when the familiarity of words sinks in. Images of a similar situation flash before his eyes and he has to bite his tongue to not burst out into unbelieving laughter. Even the open and approval seeking expression in Castiel's eyes feels like history repeating itself all over again and Sam feels sick. The muscles in his jaw constrict painfully as he fights with all his might to hold on to the non-existing contents of his stomach.

Suddenly Castiel is right in front of him. With a surprised gasp Sam stumbles backwards. His feet slip on the blood-covered floor and he barely maintains his shaky balance. He thinks he can hear Dean's voice calling out to him, but his entire being is focused on the man in front of him.

"Don't." Sam rasps out as the former angel starts to step closer to him yet again.

Almost childlike Castiel tips his head to the side. His eyes are searching Sam's face with the same steady gaze that has always made the hunter somewhat uncomfortable. Yet there is a new unsettling scrutiny to it, lacking all signs of emotions. Like a scientist who is trying to grasp a complicated math-problem.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Sam. I am not like them anymore nor have I ever been. You know that. You experienced their wrath, their righteousness."

The pressure in Sam's head increases. His eyes are burning with flickers of red and he scrunches them shut, even though it is the last thing he wants to do with Castiel standing right in front of him.

"Sam!" Dean's worried voice echos through the warehouse and he tries to hang on to that sound, tries to ground himself to the here and now. His self-control is hanging by a thread, but he has to get Dean and Bobby out of here first. With a panting breath he looks back up at Castiel and pushes out through clenched teeth:  
>"Then prove it."<p>

The former angel's brow furrows in serene confusion.  
>"What do you mean?"<p>

"Let us go."

Sam tries his best to straighten up further to give more weight to his words. Having said this someone might as well have swapped his bones with lead. His body feels too heavy and one of his knees is starting to buckle. The sound of ripping fabric fills the air and a heartbeat later Dean has materialised beside him.

"Hey, hey, easy. I've got you." Familiar arms are steadying him and he would love to close his eyes and finally give in to the exhaustion dragging him down. First things first, though. Gripping his brother's arm for support he lifts his head and looks squarely into Castiel's eyes.

"Let us walk out of here and prove that you are not like them." His voice has almost dropped to a whisper as he adds: "Zamran rit, ip piamol."

Dean's eyes widen as he stares at Sam's pale face. Either he really hit his head worse than he thought, or his brother just started speaking in a language that sounds far too much like Enochian for comfort. Sam's hand is digging painfully hard into his arm, clearly leaving a full set of fingerprint-shaped bruises behind. His own grip on his sibling isn't much looser while he tries to keep him from tumbling over.

"Very well." He turn his head in the direction of the Castiel's voice only to find the former angel's cold eyes boring into his own. "But you will come to pledge your loyalty to me." With that the former angel turns, gives one ominous nod towards Bobby and...

"What about Sam?" The seasoned hunter visibly flinches when Dean's sudden protest tears through the silence. Castiel on the other hand is his unsettling serene self upon turning back around to face the young man.

"What about him?"

Dean uncomfortably clear's his throat under the former angels scrutiny.

"You said you would fix him. After." One look at Sam is enough to know that his brother is on the brink of passing out on them. His eyes are barely more than slits and even though the trembling has seized, Dean can feel the grip Sam has on him weakening.

"Everything I set out to do has already been accomplished." Castiel declares without batting an eye.

"Are you kidding me, he is barely on his feet!"

"Dean..." Sam's voice is almost inaudible yet enough to make the older Winchester shut up.

"There is nothing more I can do for him." the former angel continues as if nothing has happened. "The rest will be up to him."

A flutter of wings can be heard as he disappears.

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_Tbc..._

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First of all...I have no idea how Enochian works, so please don't stone me. I will continue using it throughout the story though, simply because I need it for the plot.

_Zamran rit, ip piamol = Show mercy, not righteousness_

I hope you Guys enjoyed the first chapter. It's more of a prelude than anything else, but well.

I will try to update at least once a week.

More to come!


	2. Chapter 2

**Pre-bla-bla:** Sorry this chapter took so long. I was kind of stuck in the middle of it and I suck. Anyway ^^ it's finally here. Nothing really to say apart from maybe a reminder that this is **NO Wincest**, so please don't freak about one scene (you'll know when you get to it). Furthermore I know this is pretty heavy Dean POV at this point, but that's because I am hoping that the state Sam is in remains kind of a mystery to you readers. Well...at least I hope so.

And _THANK YOU_ for all the wonderful reviews for the last chapter. They REALLY REALLY are appreciated!

**Official Banner can be found on my profile-page!**

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**Chapter 2**

"Son of of a bitch!" Dean presses out through clenched teeth after Castiel has vanished into thin air. But his anger is short-lived. Not a second later his injured arm screams in protest when what feel like 300 pounds of little brother are pulling him to his knees.

"Argh, shit. Sam?" He gasps out, trying to ease his sibling's fall while going down himself. Sam's eyes have fallen shut and a thin layer of sweat is covering his almost white skin.

"Sam!" The older Winchester shouts again, shaking the limp body in his arms. Panic is starting to blur his vision as his fingers fly to the younger man's throat, frantically searching for a pulse.

"Come on, come on!" He grunts out, pressing harder into Sam's carotid. Time seems to slow down, moving thick like molasses while he wills his own racing heart to just _shut up_. His entire being is focused on the clammy skin beneath his fingertips. _Too cold, _he thinks when he notices the lack of warmth coming off his brother's unresponsive form.

"Come on, damned it!"

And there it is. A slight flutter against his fingers, too weak for comfort, but constant and _there_. Relief hits him like a punch in the gut, pushing the air out of his lungs in an audible swoosh as his head drops bonelessly to Sam's shoulder.

He really needs a drink.

"Dean?" Bobby's close-by voice startles him, makes him aware of the unguarded position he is currently in. With a slight cough he straightens up only to find his friend kneeling right next to them, concern and fear deepening the wrinkles on the older man's face.

"He's okay. Just passed out." Dean's voice is a little breathy and he has to blink his eyes a couple of times to clear his vision, but Bobby graciously doesn't comment, simply nods and stands back up to give him a second to compose himself.

"We better get moving, son. _His majesty_ might have a change of heart and come back for a second round of smiting." The older man points out, blue eyes already searching the surroundings for something to use as a stretcher.

"How?" Dean shoots back. "In case you've forgotten, my car is literally head over wheels and I doubt we'll get reception out here to call for a taxi."

"Well, unless your brother suddenly learned how to fly, Vegas' money is on him having hot-wired one of my cars to get here. So stop whining and get your ass over here to help me."

* * *

><p>They are covered in sweat when they reach the street. Sam is a big guy and carrying him would have been a challenge even on their best day. With Dean injured and both of them tired and sore it proves to be nearly impossible.<p>

"Okay, break." Bobby gasps out when the crashed Impala comes into sight.

"Yeah." Dean pants as he lowers his side of the makeshift stretcher to the ground. Pain shoots through his shoulder at the awkward angle. With a curse he lets go, flinching when he hears the metallic thunk the stretcher makes as it hits the gravel a little more forcefully than planned. Bobby is by his side in a flash, one hand on his chest to steady him on his feet.

"You alright?" The older man's brows are scrunched up in concern and not for the first time Dean finds himself wondering whether he and Sam are responsible for most of the creases Bobby's face has gained over the past couple of years.

"Peachy." he bites out, shrugs the hunter's hand off while trying to catch his breath.  
>"We'll get it looked at later." the older man suggests, but Dean's attention has already shifted towards the Impala, or what's left of her anyway.<p>

Noticing the pained expression on the younger man's face Bobby follows his line of vision and sighs.

"She has had worse, Dean." he reassures, even though looking at the wreckage it's hard to believe. The windows are busted, not to mention the clearly dented if not broken roof. There is no way of telling whether the engine took a hit until they get the car back on it's wheels, but at least the undercarriage and frame seem intact.

"Look, we'll pull her back to my place and you'll have her up an' runnin in no time."

"Yeah..." Dean mutters preoccupied, clearly taking stock of the damage himself.

Bobby's eyes trail from the wreckage back to Dean cradling his shoulder and Sam, who is still out for the count. They are all in bad shape. He himself is aching all over from being thrown down the flight of stairs. It's short of a miracle none of his bones are broken. Right now he wouldn't mind having his loathsome wheelchair within reach to fall into and never get back up again. A bottle of Scotch would do, too, but the cupboard where he keeps the good stuff hidden from the boys is miles away.

He takes off his hat and carts a hand through his sweaty, thinning hair while turning his focus towards the pitch-black road they are on. The still burning headlights of the Impala are the only reason they haven't broken their ankles in the darkness and there is no way of telling where Sam parked his ride.

"Listen." He finally says, surrendering to the fact that even though he is almost twice Dean's age, the boy is in far worse shape than him. "I'll walk up the road, try to find Sam's car or at least some reception. You stay here and take care of your brother till I get back, alright?"

Dean follows his gaze up the road. With a lingering look down at Sam's limp body he nods, even though the gesture seems a little reluctant.

"Yeah, alright. Just...if you run into anything holler or something. We don't know if Crowley still has his lackeys out."

With a final nod Bobby puts his cap back on and starts walking.

The oldest Winchester watches him for a couple of seconds before sitting down next to his unconscious sibling. Sam's complexion is still a little ashen, but his breathing is steady and strong. Dean's fingers resume their position on the younger Winchester's throat, taking comfort in the reassuring thud-thud.

The night is quiet apart from his heavy breathing and the fading noise of Bobby's boots on gravel. It seems almost peaceful. A world oblivious to the events that went down not even an hour ago. Dean scrubs a hand over his face and wishes he could at least sometimes be part of that innocence. But he realised ages ago that he doesn't belong to that world anymore. Even staying with Lisa and Ben for one year hasn't changed that. While being with them he felt disconnected, misplaced. Like taking part in a play he didn't know the lines to. Maybe if he had gotten out of hunting before the whole apocalypse business hit the fan things would be different. He doubts it, though. Even back then he had seen too much, known too much to play house and pretend the eyes in the shadows watching his every move weren't there.

No. He is right where he deserves to be. Right at the center of a screwed up existence where even your best friends can turn on you so fast it makes your head spin. And people wonder why he and Sam are as tangled up in each other as brothers can possibly be.

A low groan pulls him from his dark thoughts. His eyes dart back towards his sibling's face.

"Sam?" he asks full of hope, bending forward when he sees the younger man stir. Dazed eyes slowly open and blink sluggishly up at him.

"D'n?" Sam's voice sounds like shards of glass scratching against each other, rough and dry, but Dean can't remember hearing anything more comforting. A small smirk curves his lips upon watching his sibling rub the sleep from his eyes.

"Hey there, buddy. Nice nap?"

Sam just grumbles in response and Dean feels his chest clench at the normality of the action. It's almost like any other morning in some run-down motel room. That is, if he ignores the hard gravel digging into his legs, the throbbing pain in his shoulder, an angel gone rogue and the fact that Sam just had the wall inside his head torn down. So yeah. Just another day at the office.

He is right there when Sam starts to push himself up on his elbows, one hand on the young man's back to help him into a sitting position. His relief immediately transforms back to worry when he notices the deep lines of pain between his sibling's eyebrows.

"You alright?"

"I...I think so. Man, my head is killing me." Sam mutters, fingers digging into the bridge of his nose. A surprised chuckle erupts from Dean's throat, earning him a bitchface he almost wants to take a picture of to stick to his dash. And judging by the unbelieving look Sam throws his way his elation seems to be written all over his face. But it's true. He'll take a 'migraining' and pissy little brother over a comatose one any day.

"Dean, where are we?" The younger Winchester asks as his glance scans their surroundings for anything familiar. Dean has barely opened his mouth to answer when a visible flinch goes through the young man's body.

All of a sudden Sam's eyes widen. It looks almost comical, slack-jawed expression and everything, if it wasn't for the sheer panic painted all over his face. Alarmed the older Winchester spins around, gun in his hand, ready to fire at...nothing? His eyes search the empty air for some kind of a threat, but there is nothing there. Just him, Sam and the car. Confused Dean turns back to his brother. The young man's chest has started heaving with panting, swallow breaths, glance fixed on something behind Dean.

"Sam?" he asks in bewilderment, turning around one more time, just to make sure. Zilch. Hastily stuffing the gun back into his pocket he grabs a hold of the younger man's shoulders.

"Hey, talk to me, what's going on?" Dean's worry spikes up another notch when he notices the tension in his sibling. The muscles beneath his hands are strung so tight he is afraid one of them might give.

"The...the Impala." Sam whispers in between wheezing breaths. "I...the crash and..." His face white as a sheet while the words start to tumble out of him. Dean's head whips around, taking in the wreckage his brother is apparently staring at.

"Sam, calm down. It's just a little dented. I'll fix her, alright?" Gravel bites into Dean's knees as he shuffles in front of his brother, trying to hide the car from his sight. "I'll fix her, I promise. I...Sam?" The last word comes out as a surprised squeak Dean won't admit to in a hundred years. He is suddenly sitting on his ass, huge paws pushing his jacket apart to pat frantically across his torso.

"What the hell are you..." he starts to say, but Sam is already talking again, words pouring from his mouth in a speed Dean can barely follow.

"You were bleeding, where is all the...I saw it, you...where..."

"Sam, slow down!"

"Why aren't you bleeding? You were hurt and then the car and I and where the hell is..."

A loud slap brings everything to a stop.

Dean's hand tingles from where it connected with his brother's rapidly reddening cheek. A little shocked by his own actions he stares up at an equally frozen Sam.

"I said, slow down." He finally grinds out with all the authority he can muster, considering the slight tremble in his voice. The sheer amount of confusion and almost childlike outrage shining in his sibling's eyes is startling and unexpected as hell, but having one of them freaking out is more than enough. Calming Sam down is the only way to get any answers to the many questions burning in his mind. With a composing breath he leans forward, hands resuming their previous position on Sam's shoulders.

"I am _okay_, you hear me? No blood, no nothing, alright?" He can practically see the wheels turning in Sam's head as his glance dances back and forth from Dean to the Impala. The young man's brows pull together in confusion, but before he has the chance to utter any protest Dean is angling his head back towards himself, catching his eyes with his own.

"No one got hurt. I am fine and so is Bobby."

"B-Bobby?" Sam stutters out, looking even more confused than before.

Right on cue the sound of crunching gravel can be heard as the seasoned hunter pulls up next to them. Dean sits up, blinking owlishly into the bright light of a single headlamp glaring down at them. The driver door creaks open, quickly followed by hastily approaching steps. Not a second later Dean has to dodge backwards to avoid being smacked by an elbow as Bobby envelops Sam in a tight hug. The youngest Winchester lets out a startled gasp, before hesitantly returning the gesture.

"Damned it's good to see you back with the living, boy." Bobby says upon pulling back.

"Th-Thanks, I guess." Sam stares at him in wonder, eyes searching the older man's face like he is seeing him for the first time. Dean is grinning like an idiot, especially when he notices the usually reserved hunter's brain catch up with his own actions.

"I'm also fine Bobby, thanks for asking." he proclaims in false annoyance, earning himself a slightly relieved glare for saving the situation from turning awkward.

Clearing his throat uncomfortably Bobby straightens his hat and tips his head towards the still running car.

"We'd better get a move on."

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_Tbc_

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And there it is. Chapter 2 ^^ I hope it was varied and interesting to read. So if you like or dislike things about it, or have ideas what is going on with Sam, please let me know! *_waves with imaginary chocolate cookies as reward_*


	3. Chapter 3

**Pre-bla-bla:** Did any of you know that Castiel actually IS an 'Angel of Thursday'? I almost fell off my chair laughing, when I read that during research. The things you learn...

Btw, I get my Angel-related information from _angels365(dot)com_, in case one of you is interested.

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**Chapter 3**

Power is a funny thing. It's a lot like money actually. Those who lack it long for it like water in the desert. Those who have it assure you with sympathetic eyes that it's rather negligible. However - deep inside - everybody craves it.

He has it.

It is pulsing inside of him, filling his every fiber like live embers with the power of a thousand suns.

He tries to remember before. How come he never realised how empty it was to exist without it? Maybe back then he was too restricted by his own imperfection to perceive it.

That is no longer the case.

Now he sees everything. With a blink he travels the world and it feels strangely...small. Of course he has always been able to travel faster than most beings, but now he doesn't just get from A to B. Far from it. It's like comparing a single dot with the plenty of them contained in an expanse. There is no A or B anymore. If he chooses to, he can be everywhere.

Yet he still hasn't found what used to be his father. It's almost frustrating. Maybe he has moved on to another place now that his presence is no longer needed in this one.

It doesn't matter anyway. He has more important matters to tend to.

Heavy silence descends upon the angels as soon as he enters the Holy Host. With a small smile he strides into the room, thousands of eyes following his every move. Everyone is here, even without him having to call for an assembly. Apparently the news about Raphael's death and his own ascension have already spread.

Good.

"Castiel?" a fearful voice whispers next to him. He turns towards it.

"Hayayel." With a greeting nod he steps closer. "It's good to see you are well. I was worried after not hearing from you after the last battle went down." He looks into wide eyes, staring back at him in confusion.

"Castiel, your wings!"

The former angel sighs indulgently at his old friends obvious consternation. His glance trails to his feathers, not for the first time admiring the new colour. What used to be a pale, greyish green is now the deep shade of fir needles, laced with a little black towards the edges. A mild smile curves his lips as he looks back at Hayayel.

"Do not fear change, old friend. Everything is happening for a reason." With that he turns, resuming his stride towards the front of the crowd.

"This isn't right, Castiel!" Hayayel's voice intercepts, making him stop in his tracks.  
>"No angel should have this kind of power. This is blasphemy!"<p>

The following silence is suffocating. It presses down on the room, making Castiel wonder if heaven could tumble down into the pit if one applied enough pressure. When he turns his mouth is curved by a cold smile.

"For our shared history's sake I counsel you to silence before you force my hand." Each word is crackling with barely contained power, causing an anxious rustle of feathers in the air. Hayayel pales, wings folding closer to his body before he quickly bows and vanishes between the other angels.

Without further interruptions Castiel steps before them, glance scanning the crowd. There used to be billions of them. Cherubs, seraphs, chayots, higher and lower rank angels, archangels, you name it. But after the battle for the seals and the war the Holy Host's vastness seems to be mocking the hundreds of thousands that survived.

It's almost a shame that by the end of this gathering only half of them will be left.

* * *

><p>It is still dark when Bobby pulls off the highway for gas. The boys are both asleep, Dean drooling all over himself with his head leaning against the passenger window while Sam must have come up with a new technique of origami to fit his long limbs onto the backseat. They would present quite a picture if they got pulled over, which wouldn't be all that surprising considering the state the car is in. One headlight is smashed and the entire right side is wrecked with scrapes and dents. For Sam's sake he hopes that by some miracle Dean will miss the damage. Otherwise the boy will have to suffer through one of his older brother's speeches about 'taking stupid risks' and 'driving with one's head almost coming off one's shoulders'. Like that idjit is any better.<p>

The inside of the car on the other hand...well...that will be another thing on their never-ending laundry list of problems to deal with, but hopefully not today. As long as they shag ass to the scrapyard before dawn he might be able to dose up on hunter's helper or - god beware - maybe even get a good night's sleep before having to deal with Dean himself.

With a tired sigh Bobby steers the car towards one of the gas pumps. Fluorescent light streams through the small shop's dirty windows and he can see the night shift watching them pull up with a bored look on his face. Apparently trashed cars are nothing new at this ungodly hour.

The engine dies with a high-pitched gurgle and the old hunter flinches.  
>Dean comes awake with a graceless snort, eyes squinting against the unexpected brightness of the store.<p>

"Mornin', princess."

The young hunter simply grunts in response before his eyes drift towards the barely visible pile of limbs in the backseat. Bobby pretends not to see the affectionate smile in the darkness and grumbles: "Kid's been out like a light. Hasn't moved as much as a muscle." After a second of hesitation he adds: "You sure he's not..." but Dean is already shaking his head.

"He's just exhausted. Can't say I blame him." he reassures, hand rubbing over his face before turning his attention back to their surroundings.

"Where 're we?" His voice is still heavy with sleep and Bobby has to bite back a chuckle upon noticing the young man's rumpled appearance.

"Just passed South Dakota state border. You gotta get out?"

"Nah." Dean yawns. "But coffee would be great." His trademark smirk is met with a raised eyebrow.

"Do I look like your waitress or something?"

"Or something. Maybe after a shave..."

Bobby just groans exaggeratedly as he pushes the car door open. with a slightly pained grunt he heaves his battered body out of the vehicle and stretches his back.

"Oh, and a sandwich would be great!" sounds after him with so much false sweetness, it could induce carious.

Bobby can feel a headache approaching and his eyes dart pleadingly towards the sky. Then he remembers who is actually up there and his face falls.

That bottle of whiskey can't come soon enough.

Shaking the dark thoughts off he leans back down to glare at Dean with only partly feigned annoyance.

"At least make yourself useful and fill up the damned tank when you're already preying on an old man's good-naturedness." Then he turns and heads for the shop, gravel crunching beneath his boots.

"Your words, not mine." the young man chuckles under his breath as he drags his sleep-drunken body out of the car.

Not a second later Bobby's rough voice rings out.  
>"I heard that."<p>

* * *

><p>The pump has barely started to push fuel into the tank when Dean hears a soft moan from within the car. Careful not to make too much noise he leans in through the open driver side door and tries to make out his brother's features. Sam's brows are scrunched together, but judging by his deep breathing he is still asleep. Dean has shared enough motel rooms with his sibling to know.<p>

By now he can tell in advance when to wake Sam so he won't be even more cranky than his usual self, let alone if he's just faking to get his 'mother-henning' brother off his back. Which is another reason why Sam's coma-like state freaked him out so much, apart from the obvious reasons. His breathing was just...off. Too swallow, too long pauses in between, making Dean hold his own breath, anxiously waiting for the still chest in front of him to move again.

This right here is familiar. Painfully so, since the deep crease between Sam's brows all but screams _'nightmare'_ at him.  
>As if on cue the younger Winchester lets out another moan, hands balling to fists as he pushes his face deeper into the seat. A slight tremble goes through his shoulders and Dean has seen enough. Sam needs all the rest he can get, but if his own post-hell nightmares are anything to go by things are only going to get worse from here on.<p>

"Sam?" he calls out softly, trying not to startle his brother. The trembling only increases and the young man digs his flexing fingers into the upholstery. He makes a choked off whimpering noise Dean hasn't heard since the night Sam finally opened up to him after Jess' death and that's just it. In a heartbeat he is inside of the car and leaning across the backrest to shake his sibling awake.

"Sam, wake up!" The moment Dean's hand connects with his shoulder Sam's eyes snap open. A harsh gasp tears out of his lungs as he bolts upright, head colliding hard with the ceiling.

"Argh, shit!"

"Wow, hey! It's just me!" Dean is holding his hands out in a placating manner, careful not to touch the man before him.

Sam just stares back at him and for a couple of seconds no one is moving. Then, very slowly the tension drains out of the younger man's body, allowing Dean to take a relieved breath to calm his racing heart.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

Sam sinks back against the backrest, eyes scrunching together in pain while he rubs the sore spot on his skull.  
>"Not your fault."<p>

The older Winchester gives him a worried look as he drops into the front seat, eyes never leaving his sibling.  
>"Lollypops and candy canes, right?" His voice is dripping with sarcasm.<p>

A humorless chuckle comes from the backseat followed by a low grunt.  
>"You don't happen to have aspirin on you? Or preferably a sledge hammer so I can knock myself out?"<p>

"Sorry, dude. Fresh out." Dean replies with a sympathetic laugh. He sobers quickly, though, noticing his sibling's obvious discomfort.  
>"You want a coffee or something to eat maybe? Bobby 's in the store."<p>

Sam frowns tiredly across the parking lot, then shakes his head with a wince.  
>"Nah, I'm good."<p>

And isn't that just the biggest lie Dean has ever heard his brother tell.

_Paralysis, Insanity...Don't scratch the wall...psychic pain so profound...Because trust me...that he's locked inside himself...you're not gonna like...for the rest of his life...what happens..._

Those words have been hunting Dean's dreams for several months now. A never-ending loop of _ifs_ and _whens_ and _ends_. At first Dean had pushed the warnings aside, ignored them with all his might. Then the first crack appeared in said wall and all he could do was sit by and watch his brother writhe on the dusty ground of that cabin...

Suddenly the meaning of those words had hit home. It wasn't just an empty warning, it was their new reality. _If_ became _when_. Their own personal shiny new sword of Damocles, that -_ WHEN_ it dropped - would shatter everything. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

So Dean had done everything in his power to turn _WHEN_ into a tiny black dot at the horizon. Always ahead, knowing that they were heading straight towards it no matter where they turned, but far far away. Until an angel came and zapped them there.

_Paralysis, psychic pain so profound that he is locked inside himself..._

So when those words came true, they crashed down on him so hard he felt the ground beneath his feet give. Like a man drowning, deprived of oxygen, knowing that the fight was pointless, but trying to stay above water nonetheless.

_When angels and demons agree, call me nuts, I pay attention!_

Everyone had told him to let it go. That the part of Sam that made him his brother was broken beyond recognition. Torn and shredded, burned and _flayed to the raw nerve_. And when Sam was lying in the panicroom, unresponsive, unmoving, apart from a seizure that will join the everlasting loop of his nightmares, he had finally believed them. Leaving the address and gun for Sam stemmed more from desperate stubbornness, than actual belief in Sam needing them.

Then somehow, against all odds his little brother managed to get up from that cot and drive more than 600 miles to reach a brother who had at least partially given up on him, himself, on everything. What is the point of fighting when there is nothing left to fight for? When every time you find a new reason to keep on going someone you trusted turns on you and throws it back in your face until there is nothing left.

But Sam had come back for them, for him. And all of a sudden he was yanked out of the icy water and thrown back into a body with burning lungs, starving for air and with a warm burst of hope shooting through his veins. Hope, that all those warnings were wrong. That Death, Crowley and most of all Cas could kiss his ass for making him doubt his brother yet again.

However a part of Dean still seems to be watching from afar, resigned and wary, taking it all in and waiting for the second shoe to drop.

_Insanity..._

Sam's ramblings back at the warehouse really freaked him out. He has no idea what his brother thought he saw on that street, what happened while he was dead to the world, let alone the things that went down in the cage. There are so many questions burning inside of him now, but he is afraid to ask them. Afraid of what the answer might be.

So he pushes them down, for now at least.

"Try to catch some more sleep. We still got another four hours or so till Bobby's." His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, but Sam doesn't seem to notice.

"Yeah."

His fingers drum nervously against his thigh while he watches his brother's eyes close.

Sam's even breathing is the only sound in the car.

**#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#**

Tbc...

**#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#-#**

I know there wasn't really much happening in this chapter apart from some good old man-pain, but Dean just really needed to get this off his chest.

I hope you guys liked it, though. I am a little undecided about this one.

Thanks again for your sweet reviews. I can't tell you enough how much they mean to me. Every time I get stuck on a chapter I go back to them and it makes writing a whole lot more fun ^^


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